


dizzy on the comedown

by orphan_account



Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: (hurt/comfort in a small way), Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Morning After, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 02:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19843429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Waking up to warm light bathing the room isn’t unusual. Well, sometimes it isn’t, at least. Nick usually sleeps with his curtains shut tightly, but sometimes he forgets, or sometimes Shelby storms in and yells at him about how it’s too dark and dreary and forces them open. The only thing weird was that it was coming from the wrong side of the room—he swore that his were usually on the left, and the light he was seeing was on the right, but that may have just been the way he was sleeping—or had fallen asleep.He screws his eyes shut and lets the morning wash over him with a lift in his heart.





	dizzy on the comedown

**Author's Note:**

> _now collapse, take delight in the fall and catch your breath_   
>  _i know you feel the ring from it all_   
>  _so try and collect yourself now_   
>  _it's just a euphoric comedown_
> 
> _and you ask me "how do you feel when you're away?"_  
>  _and you ask me "how do you pass the days?"_
> 
> _cause i can still remember when you were afraid of the dark_  
>  _and i told you to come and you followed where i asked[you to go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q34dZ6VmI04)_

Waking up to warm light bathing the room isn’t unusual. Well, sometimes it isn’t, at least. Nick usually sleeps with his curtains shut tightly, but sometimes he forgets, or sometimes Shelby storms in and yells at him about how it’s too dark and dreary and forces them open. The only thing weird was that it was coming from the wrong side of the room—he swore that his were usually on the left, and the light he was seeing was on the right, but that may have just been the way he was sleeping—or had fallen asleep. He wouldn’t be surprised if a nightmare had done it—a few times he had woken up from those to find himself halfway down the bed, completely curled up in all his blankets, on the fucking floor—you name it, it’s probably happened the morning after a nightmare, depending on how bad it was.

Nick groans as he forces his eyes open, sleep still clinging to them. It must be early, by the brightness and his exhaustion—maybe eight? Nine?

But that was… weird, in a way. Nick was usually fine when he woke up. Maybe he had stayed up too late on accident. He did that sometimes—trying to battle thoughts away by reading a book or just not feeling up to sleeping yet, he’d often lose track of time. For all he knew, he could be up until four or five AM and have no idea the next morning—unless he was exhausted to all hell. That sometimes tipped him off.

He squints at the walls and those are not the same walls that he has. Pressed against the side he’s looking at is a desk—and his desk is smaller and right underneath his window. Next to that is the door (locked, he notes) and that’s weird because if there’s one thing he’s consistent with, it’s sleeping with his face towards the window.

It’s almost too bright and he’s almost too groggy so he almost chooses to go back to sleep and ponder on it later on. Almost. But… he hasn’t had good experiences, exactly, with waking up in strange places, half-asleep or half-conscious, and he’s panicking before he can stop himself.

Nick half-pushes himself up, leaning on his arms and looking around the room. He’s still tucked underneath the covers, sure, but this gives him just enough space to gather what’s going on. His eyes fall upon curtains dangling half-open, letting in just enough light to make him squint, and when he turns his head he’s also met by a pile of clothes on the ground. Oh. He relaxes, just a bit, recognizing them. Stacked… not neatly as all were shirts, pants, a whole pile of everything. And he recognized the patterned floor of most CDC rooms.

Then his gaze falls upon another pile of clothes on the floor—this one even messier, with stuff thrown this way and that. His scarf is apart of it, and when he looks up he notices something he didn’t before: His sweater hanging (messily) on the back of a chair, half pulled out from underneath the desk.

And then everything finally falls into place, and Nick sighs, relieved, and relaxes back into the bed. The blankets are soft and comfortable and smell good, but he may just be biased. He almost considers getting up and grabbing his sweater, but that would take too much work.

An arm is thrown carelessly across his waist and just moves back into position as he sinks back down, wrapping around him almost possessively. It presses the shirt he’s wearing into his skin, seeing as it’s quite larger than him, actually making it almost halfway down his thighs if he were to stand up. But he’s not going to. At least it’ll be useful later, when he actually gets up, seeing as Nick’s very much not wearing anything other than it.

“Morning,” Shark mumbles drowsily against him, face pressed into the back of his neck. It can’t be comfortable—Shark’s taller than him, and his hands are at the proper height to wrap around his waist, but Nick feels him press a small kiss against it and smiles. “It’s too early to get up. Go back to sleep.”

“But it’s such a nice day,” Nick whines back, yawning halfway through his sentence. “Get out, stretch out legs, go on a jog or something, kill some zombies, same old, same old.”

Shark tightens his grip on Nick’s waist as if he can bribe him out of leaving with cuddles. Nick wasn’t going to go in the first place, but if he was, it would have worked. “One of those don’t fit. Let’s sleep all day and avoid Gray tomorrow so he doesn’t get on our case about not doing anything. And the day after that. And the day after that. And the day after that. And—”

“Alright, I get it, you want to sleep. I bet we can manage another hour or two before Ghetto comes knocking on the door and demands that we get out and do shit with him and AK, or something. He’s been doing that more recently. I think he’s getting lonely.”

“Yeah, because AK won’t do anything fun with him. He’s as stale as an old french fry. Don’t quote me on that, I don’t want him to beat my ass because he found it insensitive towards AK-kind. Hey, do you think if we found someone for him with another gun-related name he’d finally lighten up a bit because he was enjoying himself for once? Unless he’s like, as stiff as a board the entire time.”

“I refuse to talk about AK’s romantic affairs in bed with you.” Shark tilts his head forward and laughs, forehead pressing against Nick’s hair. “I don’t even want to think about the idea. I’m too tired. I don’t want to think about anything right now.”

“Yeah, well I don’t either, so we’re on the same side here,” he says in return.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Nick snickers and Shark chuckles in response like he can’t hold himself back. Nick’s been told he has that effect—once he starts laughing, everyone else joins in. It’s just so infectious, in a way. Not in a funny laugh way, but in a happy one. Like things are going to be okay.

Shark’s hands wander underneath his shirt but it doesn’t feel like anything suggestive and—and especially not like anything that happened last night. It’s lazier; he props his hands in the dip in his sides, sighing calmly. “You’re so warm,” he says, letting his hands brush against the skin of Nick’s stomach, his shirt starting to ride up past his wandering hands. “Why the hell are you so warm and I’m not? Like, I mean I’m cozy, but you’re so much hotter. What the hell. That’s some bullshit.”

“It’s because I’m wearing a shirt and you’re not,” Nick mumbles in response, moving his head to the side as Shark props his own in the crook of his neck, eyes fluttering between open and shut as he finds his old grip on Nick’s waist, just this time underneath his shirt instead of above it.

“That’s unfair. Why do you get a shirt and I don’t?”

Nick laughs and Shark digs his fingers into his skin teasingly. “Hey—hey now, watch out, don’t do that again or I’m leaving for real. I get a shirt and you don’t because I stole yours. It’s mine now, sorry, you’re not getting it back.”

“Aw, beans,” Shark says with a grin in his voice. “Not even when it stops smelling like me? I know that’s why you steal all my shirts.”

“W-well that’s one of the reasons.” Nick twists around and focuses a glare at him, even if his face and ears are heating up. He used to hate feeling flustered, the vulnerability of it all, but now it’s just a mild tinge in the back of his mind. “They’re also comfortable. Easier to put on. I once had to throw out a perfectly good shirt because it was too tight with my binder, can you believe that?”

“Yes, by the way you steal my shirts in the thousands,” Shark says, “or millions. One of the two. I don’t know how many shirts are still mine. I hate to say that, but you may need to start splitting the shirts with someone?”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You see, I have this boyfriend, and he also likes stealing my shirts by the thousands. It might make some things difficult because that shirt’s a favorite of his and everything… might need to steal it off of you, sorry. May not, you’re hotter than him anyways. But you ignore me when AK threatens my life, so…”

“That was once!” Shark gives him a cheeky smile and Nick flicks his nose. “And if this boyfriend of yours is so less hot, why would you even want to see him in your shirts? I obviously look better in them so you have to choose between me, the hot one, and him, the not as hot one. I feel like it’s a clear choice, do you? But, I mean, if you really want to wrestle me out of this one and give it to him, I guess it can happen…”

He can practically feel Shark rolling his eyes. “Actually, sorry, but I don’t fuck virgins. You’ll have to check in later. That was a joke, but like actual question, because me and Ghetto bet once that I could never take someone’s virginity so yes-no did I win a week of getting to steal his peaches or not? The bet lasts another two weeks, and I refuse to let him win.”

“Oh my god. Of course you two bet on something like that,” Nick says as Shark rubs his thumb in circles on his hip. “I mean…” he starts and then trails off. “If you want to count… I’ll be honest, if I, uh, can—technically not, I guess, but I don’t like to count those encounters. They aren’t good memories.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just tell him ‘yes,’ then,” Shark murmurs reassuringly, pressing kisses along Nick’s jaw that make his knees feel weak (even if they were already weak before). He pulls him in closer and Nick can feel the soft rise and fall of Shark’s chest against his back. He pauses for a second, his breath hitching in his chest, and then, softly, says, “Was this a good encounter? Or, at least, a better one?”

Nick props himself up on his elbows and flips over so he can face Shark. “Of course,” he says, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Shark’s arms snake their way back to Nick’s waist like a siren’s call—he swears, he’ll lose all functionality in the one tucked between his side and the bed. Pins and needles that will take an hour to go away. “Good,” he murmurs back and Nick tucks his head underneath his chin. “Ghetto will be so jealous that he lost.”

“Yeah…” Nick breathes. “It just… it’s better, now. It felt good, for once in what felt like a long time. Felt safe.”

Lips press against his forehead and a hand wanders up and tangles in his hair, scratching against his scalp slightly. “Well,” Shark says, and Nick doesn’t catch the rest, breathing him in instead; his shirt, softer than most of the ones he’s “borrowed” before, worn and rested in. Shark says something along the lines of “I never want you to feel unsafe” and Nick almost has to blink tears out of his eyes. For… ugh, for what they just did, everything is surprisingly sappy and domestic. He thought Shelby had been weird, mooning over past girlfriends like she did. But maybe, for once, she was right.

“People I used to know would totally make fun of me for this,” Shark says, “say that I’ve gone ‘soft’ and ‘domestic.’ I mean, they did, back with my ex-girlfriend—with Grace, I should start saying her name now—but I feel like it’s been increased by ten.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Nick sighs.

“Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?”

“Not really,” he confesses, feeling Shark twitch in amusement. “You’re so comfy. I get what you mean about me being warm now. You’re warm too. I’ve changed my mind about the jog, I wanna lay around in bed all day.”

Shark just presses his lips against Nick’s forehead in another kiss and rests there long after it’s ended. Nick swings a leg over his body and tucks in closer, the covers pulled up his body but not far enough, so he blindly grasps for them until he can properly pull them up to his chin. Most of them are on his side of the bed. That must have been why Shark was so cold. Nick feels guilty for a second but then reminds himself that Shark was the idiot who refused to wear a shirt to bed. Idiot. Cute one, but an idiot nonetheless.

Slowly, the CDC starts to rouse. People walk past the room and chat and talk and do whatever—an announcement about supply raids for winter gathering plays, and Major Gray’s voice is hopeful when he asks if anyone in his inner circle would help with the few starting runs around the city. Well, Nick was very comfortable in Shark’s arms, so he would have to go and ask AK, Ghetto, or anyone else to help with him. Nick wasn’t leaving unless he literally had to.

Someone pounds on the door soon after. “HEY, SHARK, DO YOU WANT TO HELP MAJOR GRAY WITH THE RUNS? HE SAID INNER CIRCLE LIKE IT WAS HIS PLATOON OR WHATEVER THE LINGO IS BUT WE ALL KNOW HE WANTS TO FORCE US TO DO IT,” Ghetto yells through it, and Nick can hear Jess hissing something at him through the door, ineligible but he gets the general gist.

“I’M NOT WEARING A FUCKING SHIRT,” Shark yells back, and Ghetto grumbles something that sounds like “I never got to say that at the monument” before his and Jess’s voice fade out, bickering about something that, again, is ineligible.

Once they’re out of earshot, Nick whispers, “What do you think would have happened if he burst in anyway?”

“For one, the door is locked, so it would take a while and by then Jess would have dragged him away by the ear. But if we’re talking about her not getting in the way, then he would’ve burst in, seen you, and then yelled at us until Jess dragged him away by the ear but in this scenario instead.”

“And by the afternoon everyone in the CDC would have heard that we slept together,” Nick says, and Shark responds by popping the p in his “yep.”

“I mean, it’s a bet on whether or not Shelby would flip. But you’re both adults, so probably not. I might just get, two weeks or so of death glares. I’d have to ignore Xavier and Jin for a week because they would be giving out tips on safe sex until I had it drilled into my head. Ghetto wouldn’t shut up, Jess wouldn’t shut up, either, once the jokes got going, and AK—”

Nick lets him ramble on. They know that none of this would happen—other than the Jin and Xavier thing, because they did that to any and every couple they could corner in the mornings when they were too tired and defenseless to fight against the lecture—but it’s fun to speculate. Nick definitely has a better grasp on his friends and their actions, words, decisions than Shark does, but it’s still fun hearing him brainstorm. He just likes to hear him talk; it’s charming, calming, soothing. A nice mix. He’s able to hold a conversation for long, even one-sided, and just his murmur is already starting to lull Nick back into a half-asleep state.

“You know,” Nick says, interrupting Shark mid thought, “earlier. When you brought up the 'me not listening' thing. I was listening. I always do. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Oh,” Shark says, but it sounds more like a squeak.

“I wish I could have met her,” Nick continues. “Grace. She sounds like a nice girl. I think we might have gotten along.

Shark pauses, for a bit, holding onto Nick like a lifeline. And then he relaxes as his pulse steadies out, a _yeah, we’re going to make it, you and I,_ and a flat line curving back out from disaster. “Yeah,” he eventually says. “Yeah, you would have. She would have loved you.”

“Would she have loved that boyfriend you talked about earlier.”

“Oh, absolutely not. Totally not her taste. He’s not as hot as you, so it doesn’t matter at all. You’re totally better, so that’s why I’m with you and not him.”

Shark leans down, kisses his neck and then trails it down to his collarbone like he can’t stand having his hands off of Nick for a second longer than necessary. Nick shifts up, tilts his head to the side, gives him more space and only squeaks once when he sucks harder than before, smiling against Nick’s collarbone with his teeth.

“Oh my fucking god, how horny are you?” Nick exclaims, feigning disgust as Shark does something that will very much leave a hickey for him to get interrogated on once it’s seen. “Come on, I can’t wear my scarf all the time.”

“You like them,” Shark says, feigning innocence as he looks up at Nick. “It’s not my fault that your skin just happens to be more sensitive.”

“Oh, shut up.” Shark only stops laughing once Nick cups his face with his hands and draws him in for a kiss, two hands reaching up and holding onto his wrists as Nick climbs over him and straddles his legs, even if it does make the ache in his legs a little more present. “Your skin is paler, why don’t you ever have to deal with this?”

“Because you’re a coward.” Shark’s hands leave his wrists to ghost over his hips again and Nick’s going to have to bring up that fixation one of these days, if anything to make him blush and nothing more.

“This ‘coward’ isn’t going to kiss you until you take that back,” Nick threatens.

“Fine. You’re only a… hmm, how does, uh… I actually can’t think of anything.”

“That means I’ve won.”

“For now. I bet that you would take back that ‘coward’ thing the moment I got you to—”

Nick pulls away and scowls down at him, “And I’m cutting you off now. This early in the morning is for cuddles and cuddles only. Understand, buster?”

Shark rolls his eyes at the nickname but still pulls Nick down to his chest, pulling the blankets back up, slipping a leg between Nick’s as an armed wrapped around his neck and the other rested comfortably on his chest. “I see how it is,” he murmurs, but Nick’s already nodded off again, sighing against his chest, eyelashes fluttering and then closing. Once Shark’s sure he’s asleep, he murmurs, “I love you, no matter how many stupid nicknames you come up for me.”

He falls asleep not long after. Nick shifts against his chest and whispers, “I love you, too.”


End file.
